


Attachments

by kuragay



Series: Natsume Week 2020 [1]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Tumblr: Natsume Week, Tumblr: Natsume Week 2020, emphasis on the comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:55:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25029607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragay/pseuds/kuragay
Summary: Natsume grows a parasitic youkai in his shoulder, but he also has a powerful bodyguard and a family to love and be loved by, so at the end of the day, he finds that the warmth he receives triumphs the pain. He never could say that, before.-Day 1: Belonging
Relationships: Fujiwara Touko & Natsume Takashi, Madara "Nyanko-sensei" & Natsume Takashi
Series: Natsume Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1812550
Comments: 8
Kudos: 126





	Attachments

It’s a bright, early morning, and Natsume’s walking through the forest to get back home after an impulsive stroll when he feels a sharp digging sensation in his right shoulder, intense but brief. He winces, clutching at where he felt the pain bite, and pulls his shirt down only to find smooth, unblemished skin.

“Ow.”

“What’s wrong, Natsume?” Sensei bounds up to him, hopping on his good shoulder, and looks over.

“See anything?”

“Hmm,” Sensei squints, eyes flashing almost gold for a second when a glimmer of sunlight glints off his iris. “No,” he turns away, hopping back to the floor, “There’s nothing there.”

Natsume breathes, relieved, wondering if maybe it was just a knot. Maybe he’s been a bit too tense lately, and his shoulder’s only letting him know to take it easier.

Distracted, Natsume steps on an uneven patch of forested ground, wet and slippery from the previous night’s rainfall, and he stumbles, feeling his shoulder smart again. Beneath him, Sensei stops walking just in time for Natsume to trip over his furry little body, and Sensei shrieks as they both go tumbling into a heap in the mud.

“Natsume!”

“Ow.”

“How can you be so clumsy?”

“Ugh, I think i’m bleeding--”

“There was nothing for you to trip on--”

“Ow, ow.”

“You owe me something from Nanatsuji! Dango! Meat buns.”

“Shut up, sensei.”

Natsume _is_ bleeding, but it’s nothing more than a couple scrapes, so he stands up gingerly and scoops Sensei into his arms. His shoulder is forgotten, and doubly so when he gets home to Touko fussing over the scrapes and dirt covering him.

“You’re supposed to look after him,” she chides Nyanko-sensei, much to Natsume’s amusement and Sensei’s chagrin. “Now you both need a bath.” Then she kisses Natsume’s forehead, dirt and all, and a warmth that he’s slowly getting used to blossoms in his chest. Flushing, Natsume ducks his head, hiding his smile in Nyanko-sensei’s fur.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, and Touko only shakes her head.

“It’s summer break. I’m glad you’re out having fun.”

He loves this home, these people, more than he ever thought he could ever love anything. More than he thought he ever deserved to love anything, and that love is reciprocated tenfold. He wishes someday to express how much everyone here means to him, even the fat cat in his arms, whining for dango.

-

Natsume doesn’t really notice at first. His energy has never been quite there, and his skin never quite flushed enough, but the lethargy before he goes to sleep that night is something different. It’s not just that he’s tired, although he is, but rather that his limbs feel unnatural and wooden, weighed down like his muscles have forgotten how to support them. 

“I think I’m getting sick,” he tells Nyanko-sensei while towelling dry his fur, ignoring the way Sensei’s eyes narrow. Silently, Sensei contemplates, then does a once-over of Natsume, nose twitching. 

“You’re really too weak,” he huffs finally, clambering gracelessly into Natsume’s lap, and Natsume can only roll his eyes.

“Everyone gets sick, Sensei.”

“Not nearly as often as you.”

It’s true, Natsume concedes, but it’s not entirely due to his poor disposition. Oftentimes, youkai are the direct causes to his bouts of sickness, but there’s not much he can do to mitigate that.

“I think I just need sleep, and I’ll be better tomorrow morning.” After scratching behind Sensei’s ear and moving him out of his lap, Natsume stretches an arm over his head, feeling his bad shoulder crack before he goes to his closet to grab his futon. 

In this tiredness, he doesn’t notice Sensei’s tracking gaze, the concern hidden behind gleaming eyes.

“I’ll ward off the youkai tonight,” Nyanko-sensei says, “so you can rest.” His intonation is a bit deeper, the way it only gets when Natsume knows he’s worrying about something, whatever that may be.

Natsume softens, knowing that he can never admit to this fondness unless he’s willing to put up with Sensei teasing him forever, and passes a gentle hand through Sensei’s clean fur. “Thank you, Sensei.”

He lays down, sighing deeply as the tension in his chest refuses to loosen, and noiselessly, as if sensing his discomfort, Nyanko-sensei curls up by Natsume’s side, one of his cat eyes remaining opened and trained on the window.

“Go to sleep,” Sensei says, so Natsume does.

-

He dreams of tall, looming trees, lush and full of life in a cold forest, each individual leaf illuminated by the smooth reflection of moonlight. 

To his right, in the middle of a clearing, there’s a tree that almost seems to bend over, sicker than the rest and dreary in its illness.

“Infected, infected,” a fluttering voice whispers, echoing into the woods, resounding inside Natsume’s mind as his shoulder starts to burn. A small, green sprig covered in sharp, dark leaves gets blown by the wind, landing at Natsume’s feet as somewhere, far away, something begins howling, matching the sound of the wind.

“Infected. Infected.”

The sickly tree tilts in Natsume’s direction, almost extending towards him, beckoning him over, but Natsume stays rooted, throat closing from fear. It bends, creaks, groans, and then the branches are looming over Natsume’s head, leaves almost dripping from the cracked and blackened branches. Beneath, its roots are half exposed, ripped from the earth, almost like it’s trying to walk. The howling grows louder, wind ripping at Natsume’s hair as the branches snap around him, surrounding him in decay as they tumble to the dirt below.

“Infected, infected, infected, INFECTED--”

An explosion rips through the tree, black spraying out like blood from a cut artery as the sun splits the moon in two, morning tearing through night until Natsume is blinded and soaked, the black liquid in his clothes, hair, face. Ink-like substance coats his lips and tongue, and he’s left darkened while the world around him awakens to dawn.

He stumbles back, screaming, and screaming, and screaming--

-

It’s worse when he wakes, the window telling him it’s not even close to morning as his shoulder pulses like it’s alive. Nyanko-sensei purrs at his side before rolling over to expose his belly, and Natsume manages to reach out to prod him.

“Sensei,” Natsume can’t help but sob, curling in on himself when the pain flares again. “Sensei, wake up, please wake up.”

His bodyguard is up in a second, expression wild when he catches gaze of Natsume’s pitiful figure, limp and sweaty on the floor.

“My shoulder. Check my shoulder.”

Slowly, carefully, Sensei rolls Natsume over until his bad shoulder is exposed, and nudges down his shirt with his nose.

“Hmmm.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Natsume yelps when sensi nudges him again, pain lancing through his entire right side.

Sensei hums again, then sighs. “Stupid boy. You have a parasite.”

“Huh?!” Natsume panics, sitting up then immediately regretting it as his blood rushes from his head. He’s left blinking black spots from his eyes for a good twenty seconds while Sensei paces anxiously along the floor.

“How does this happen to you?”

“Can we get rid of it? It is a youkai?”

Sensei blinks slowly at Natsume like he’s a toddler, then explodes. “Of _course_ it’s a youkai! It’s _you_ after all.”

“Oh no.” Natsume groans miserably, tilting his head to try to get a better look at his shoulder and pretending he doesn’t whimper when the pain gets worse.

“It’s weak. That’s why it’s using you. It seems to have rooted.”

“ _Rooted?!”_ Natsume finally manages to maneuver himself enough to see a tiny sprout, splitting open his skin, his veins around the plant angry and purple, and when he pushes the shoulder of his shirt down, he sees the colour extend down all the way to his wrist. “My veins!”

“Those are its roots.”

“I’m going to throw up.” He pushes himself to his feet and stumbles to the washroom mirror, wincing as he takes his shirt off. The purple roots don’t only take up his right arm, but also the right side of his chest, extending past his clavicle. 

“It’s a bit disturbing,” Sensei muses, having followed him to the washroom, and Natsume tries his best not to fume.

“It also _hurts,”_ Natsume points out, grimacing as he prods the skin around the sprout.

“Wimp,” Sensei says, but there’s no mistaking his expression. He’s genuinely concerned, which is worrying.

“I was supposed to have a relaxing day today.” Deflating, Natsume sits on the washroom floor, letting his head rest on his drawn-up knees. As the second passes, he feels the adrenaline from the panic ebb away, leaving him even heavier than the night before, his lungs inflating only with deliberate deep breaths, the thought of moving from the washroom getting further and further away.

“Don’t fall asleep here,” Sensei says, and Natsume nods, but can’t find the energy to move. Sighing, Sensei steps back, and Natsume feels a rustling breeze as Sensei’s true form cramps the washroom, his teeth dangerously close to Natsume’s face. But Natsume only feels safe, letting Sensei’s powerful jaws scoop him up and carry him to bed. “Rest,” Sensei commands, his voice a deep rumble, familiar and comforting. 

Natsume closes his eyes, but he does not sleep. Instead, he leans into Sensei’s warm body, letting the heat leach away the hurt. 

-

When it’s finally morning and bright enough for every dust particle in Natsume’s room to be visible, he suddenly has an intense desire to go outside, pain and tiredness pushed to the back of his mind.

He gets up almost robotically, every thought muffled, as if his head is stuffed with thick, wettened wool, but he knows he needs to go out. The sun has risen, and the world is golden, and he craves for that warmth on his skin. He needs light.

 _“Natsume?”_ he hears a voice call, something soft brushing against his ankles, but he’s not really sure who it is. He unlatches his window, pushing it open, and slowly eases himself out of it onto the roof, the sun immediately hitting his skin, warm and bright, and Natsume relaxes, angling himself so his right side is closest to the light. The slope of the roof is gentle on his back as he lays down, and someone is still calling him, far far away.

A heavy object, maybe person, maybe animal, is sitting on him, a sturdy weight on his chest, and Natsume decides that this isn’t good enough. There must be somewhere better, somewhere higher. He sits up, feeling the weight fall from his chest, and thinks he can hear a protest. Maybe a whine. Maybe a groan.

Looking down at the ground below, he figures he can probably make the jump, and grips the edge of the roof to lower himself closer to the ground before letting go. His feet hit the pavement, and he thinks he stumbles, a twinge in his ankle telling him that maybe he landed wrong, but he doesn’t particularly care. Up ahead is a forest, full of tall trees competing for sunlight, and Natsume thinks he needs to be there now, so he starts making his way over.

“ _Natsume, where are you going? Natsume! Gosh, you’re so troublesome.”_

The forest. He needs to get to the forest.

_“The youkai’s taken over you, you fool!”_

There. The tree is perfect. It’s taller than the ones around it, healthy and lush and full of nutrients. He’s not sure where he finds the strength in his trembling arms, but he does, and his fingers dig into old, moss-covered bark, his feet catching every irregularity on the tree trunk to heft himself up.

For a while, there’s nothing but the rhythmic pattern of reaching up to find grip, his feet following as he lifts his body further and further up the oak. Sweat drips down the back of his neck, his shirt sticking to his back, but it’s a distant discomfort. Natsume feels like he’s been shoved into the back of his own head, and someone else has taken the wheel, but he’s unafraid. His heart beat is steady but fast, the exertion letting itself be known, but Natsume knows with overwhelming certainty that getting to a high point is the most important thing to him at this moment.

Below, a voice calls for him, repeating his name over and over.

_“Come down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”_

Natsume hears it, but doesn’t bother acknowledging it. Sunlight pours through the thick, bushy leaves, hitting his eyes, and he squints, a rush of euphoria flooding through him, head to toe, so overwhelming that he almost lets go of the branch he’s gripping.

 _Almost,_ he thinks. _Almost there._

Another metre up, three quarters to the top of the tree, a thick branch extends past the densest part of leaves and leads directly into the sunlight. Natsume climbs onto the branch on all fours, inching himself forward until he’s past the leaves, nothing blocking him from the scorching heat of summer, and he breathes deeply.

Until now, he doesn’t notice the lack of pain, but once every muscle in his body is no longer straining, he can feel the distinct lack of pinching in his shoulder, the fog thickening in his head.

The sun hits his face, his neck, his shoulders, and something in him preens, content. And then, without warning, the sun is gone, a large mass blocking it. Natsume whines, a sound he’s never made before, exhaustion hitting him with full force as he’s captured in a creature’s jaws.

 _Nyanko-sensei,_ he thinks, but even though he trusts the beast who holds him, the need for light is stronger.

“The sun,” he gasps, and the creature scoffs.

_“The youkai’s taken over your mind.”_

Natsume doesn’t understand where the light went, or what the creature means, or why the creature won’t set him down. They’re flying, Natsume knows, his eyes facing the sky, the trees now hundreds of metres below his back.

_“We’re going to see Hinoe. Maybe she can help.”_

His shoulder starts to hurt again, but with it comes more clarity of the situation, and the fog recedes slowly, draining out until he feels less suffocated.

“Sensei?” Natsume says weakly, managing to get a hand on Sensei’s snout, his fingers untangling dirt and grass from thick, matted fur. “Sensei, you’re all dirty again.”

Nyanko-sensei hums, a low reverberating sound, and Natsume lets his hand drop, hanging limply as the wind blows his hair over his face and into his eyes.

This parasite in his shoulder, it smoulders and burns, and Natsume’s left with an aching loneliness, as if something’s missing, the loneliness swifty followed by bone deep weariness. He stares up, the sun finally visible again, golden rays sinking into his skin, and the parasite sends gleeful tingles down Natsume’s spine, up his neck, and into his brain, an unbearable fuzziness once again drowning out his cognition.

The entire time, Nyanko-sensei holds him as if he’s precious cargo, as gently as can be.

-

“That’s strange,” Hinoe muses as Natsume sits in Nyanko-sensei’s shadow. Her pipe dangles in her left hand, her right trailing around the pulsing youkai. 

“Are you familiar with it?” Sensei asks, and Hinoe, against all odds, nods her head.

“Yes, I’ve seen it maybe once or twice.” Her hand moves to Natsume’s hair which she ruffles absentmindedly, and Natsume finds that he doesn’t mind as it’s a pleasant distraction from the pain. “They’re parasitic plant youkai, and they usually attach to trees. It’s rare for them to find a human host, but I suppose you’re always in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She sighs.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Nyanko-sensei changes back into his smaller form, licking his paw like he’s really a disgruntled feline. He regards Hinoe with a knowing look and hops into Natsume’s waiting arms. “Is there a way to get rid of it?” he asks, but it sounds like he already knows the answer, and it sounds like Natsume won’t like the response.

Sure enough, Hinoe frowns, then sighs again. “I’m afraid not. It’ll leave soon enough, but until then, you should probably stay away from the sun. Once it realizes that you’re a poor host, it should leave. And you should drink and eat more than usual. It’s taking up your nutrients. Look at you, all pale and shaky.”

Although she may loathe to admit it, Hinoe really must love Natsume, much to his bewilderment, because she runs her fingers down the side of his face, her expression almost fond. 

“Madara, you should be taking better care of him.”

Huffing, Nyanko-sensei turns his head, butting Natsume’s chest angrily. “He’s not a child to take care of, and anyway, look at how often he needs help. I can’t always be on the lookout.” He sounds derisive, but by now Natsume knows better. Maybe a year ago he would’ve felt differently, but he thinks he has a better grasp at understanding other people’s feelings as well as his own. Nyanko-sensei may seem rude and unapproachable, mocking and uncaring, but Natsume sees when the stupid cat is concerned, and can feel the care that Nyanko-sensei handles him with.

He remembers when he first brought Nyanko-sensei home, when his nightmares were so regular that he couldn’t quite catch his breath, and he would wake up to Nyanko-sensei purring by his head, a nose on his cheek and one eye opened. He may pretend to be apathetic, but Nyanko-sensei _does_ look out for Natsume and he most definitely feels guilt when he can’t help. 

When Natsume says, “Let’s go home, Sensei,” the cat dutifully transforms, scooping Natsume back into his jaw once again. “I can just get on your back, you know.”

“You’re too weak right now.”

“What a dutiful bodyguard you are,” Natsume jokes. Only, as he’s lifted into the sky, he finds that he wasn’t joking at all.

-

At night, once the sun’s gone down and the pain is back, Natsume checks his shoulder and notices that the roots have receded to his upper arm. 

“I think it’s leaving soon,” Natsume says, relieved, and Nyanko-sensei also seems pleased by this.

Rolling over, he looks at Natsume and gripes, “I’m hungry,” and as if summoned, Touko knocks on Natsume’s door then peers inside, jello and tea balanced on a tray.

“You don’t look very good,” she frowns as she comes in, pressing a hand to Natsume’s forehead once the tray’s set down. “How do you feel?”

Natsume smiles at her, and her shoulders relax minutely. “I feel okay, Touko-san. I’m just a little bit tired.”

She nods, heading back to the door, then hesitates. “Do you...need anything else?” This is her way of showing love, Natsume has come to realize over the months he’s spent here. She likes to provide and take care of those who she holds dear, and Natsume’s still coming to terms, more and more every day, that he’s one of those people. That she loves him dearly, and that he loves her in return--more than he ever imagined loving anyone or anything. 

“Maybe an extra blanket,” he says, and her expression unwinds, a fleeting smile dashing across her face, her eyes bright and maybe a little bit wet.

“Of course. I’ll get that for you right away.”

“Thank you,” Natsume whispers, his voice hoarse. Even though he knows now how much she cares, he still marvels at how much she’s willing to do for him and how much he’s willing to do in return. And although his shoulder hurts badly, and he thinks he probably won’t get any sleep tonight, his heart is light and easy to carry. It never used to be like this. It used to hurt so much more to feel happiness because it used to always be temporary.

But it’s different now. Touko leaves to get a blanket for Natsume, and Nyanko-sensei rests his head on Natsume’s stomach. Downstairs, Shigeru is helping Touko find the softest blanket in the house, and when they do find it, it’s heavy and warm, and Natsume accepts it with gratitude. Even though his shoulder still hurts, somehow, in this safe, loving house, he falls asleep. 

When he wakes, there are no roots down his arms and no more pain in his shoulder. The parasite has left, and in a moment of contemplation, Natsume finds that he’s glad that the youkai, too, had a place to belong for a while.


End file.
